


Small Changes

by ReaperRain



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Institute SoSu, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Synths (Humans)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6293383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperRain/pseuds/ReaperRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill. Spoilers for Blind Betrayal.</p><p>Prompt: The Sole Survivor, through whatever means, stumbles upon the recall code for M7-97, AKA Danse. They figure out how to use the code to just 'tweak' Danse's personality instead of erasing it completely. And one day, something happens, and they use the code. No matter why it happens the first time, the result is the SS gets a huge rush off having that kind of power over someone. So they find another excuse. And another. Pretty soon, Danse is their devoted pet synth/sex slave, his mind altered to the SS's exact specifications.</p><p>Primarily M!SoSu/Danse with side mentions of M!SoSu/X6-88. Dub-con bordering on non-con due to mind control themes. This sole survivor is Institute-aligned and a terrible human being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Changes

It was just small things at first. Little... eccentricities that could be smoothed out. Danse held eye contact for approximately 2.5 seconds longer than the social norm; once Frost suggested he avert his eyes just a fraction sooner conversations immediately became far less intense and more pleasant. He held himself ruler-straight at all times, perfect military posture but really, the spine wasn't supposed to stay that immobile for that long. Once Frost mentioned he loosen up a little he noticed a marked improvement in Danse's range of movement and muscle tension. 

Such tiny changes, but suddenly he was much more approachable, with members of the Brotherhood personally congratulating Frost on getting Danse to relax for once. He couldn't tell them he was using recall codes, of course, but he could take quiet pride in his efforts. 

Later he thought a few adjustments in attitude were in order. Danse was a good man – kind and large-hearted behind the steely exterior – but his views on nonhumans were quite extreme. Not his fault, a doctrine imposed by the Brotherhood. It would normally take years to undo those kind of prejudices, but fortunately all Frost needed was a code. _I know ghouls and supermutants make you uncomfortable_ – needed to leave something in there or people would grow suspicion of the heel-turn in opinion – _but I don't think you truly hate them_. Danse blinked, mumbled an agreement and voilà, he no longer truly hated them.

If only he could change the entire Brotherhood so easily. Ghouls were simply irradiated humans and quite fascinating to observe. Supermutants were admittedly harder to tolerate due to their own intolerance of everyone else, but they too had been human once. And they were capable of retaining their intelligence, like Brian Virgil had. Last Frost had checked the experiments on Virgil had been going quite well, so one day curing all strains of the FEV was well within reach.

If there were any supermutants left to cure by the time the Brotherhood was through. So intent to destroy something that could be fixed. Such single-mindedness. Still, Danse's views were softened, and that was really all that mattered.

He had such success he brought it up later with X6-88. The courser was laid out beneath him on a semi-clean bed, legs spread and body so wonderfully warm, the perfect level of leisurely pleasure to facilitate Frost's musings. He cocked his head thoughtfully as Frost spoke between each thrust, bringing up the possibility that more synths could be gently altered rather than using the comparatively brutal total recall that rendered them inert.

“It's something to consider, sir,” X6 responded, tone even despite the little hitch of breath at Frost's movements. When he started sentences like that it meant he didn't quite agree, but he had never given Frost an outright rejection. It conflicted with his programming, maybe. “But when recalling rogue synths, drawing out the process over several sessions greatly increases the risk of being caught. Your situation with M7-97 is unique, as you are able to correct him repeatedly without drawing suspicion.”

“A fair point. I simply wish there was a kinder way,” Frost sighed. “They belong to the Institute, true, but even property should be treated with care and respect. I treat you kindly, don't I?”

X6 glanced down at the meeting of their bodies, Frost's hand curled around his cock. “I'd say so, sir.”

Just in case, Frost put a little extra effort into making sure X6 enjoyed himself this time around; he was sometimes guilty of growing tired and selfish after his own climax, ordering X6 to finish himself off. This time he kept his thrusts in check until the synth started twitching and writhing, one of the few times his companion lost his composure – though never for very long, trained as he was to suppress emotions and reactions.

Would Danse suppress his as well? He hadn't given it any real thought before, besides idle fantasies – he was primarily drawn to Danse's personality, but he wasn't blind to the man's appearance either – but it occurred to him now that he had the means to find out. He'd made so many changes, encouraging Danse to be more receptive to intimacy was certainly possible. And he had so many stresses, past tragedies he hadn't recovered from, concerns over his team and doubts of his judgement. Providing an outlet that Danse may not have otherwise considered could only be beneficial.

-

He liked to find ways to slip the adjustment code into conversation. He could simply recite it and say what he needed to say – synth programming ensured that Danse would never recognise the code for what it was or remember it was spoken allowed. But it was better, and perhaps less suspicious, if he acted as though he was reading a datafile, or map coordinates. 

This time he picked a scrap of journal from a raider they'd found dead in a long-abandoned house, squinted at it as though it was a mystery for the ages. “Hey, this is weird. It just says-” the code fell from his lips like a well-remembered poem. Danse turned from the drawers he was searching through to look at him, and Frost gave him a sweet smile. “You should stand closer to me.”

Danse immediately took a few steps closer, power armour creaking over the floorboards. Once just a little closer than was appropriate he paused, frowning. “Sorry, I didn't hear you. It says what?”

He remembered something and rattled off the code again. “We shouldn't be close on the Prydwen or people will talk. But when we're alone you can touch me as much as you'd like.” Afterwards, he waved the paper in Danse's face. “Something about food paste. Do you think it's that pink stuff we found in the school?”

Danse squinted at the paper. “It seems that way. It may be more widespread than we initially thought, though I suppose it's of little concern to us.” He handed the paper back to Frost, his armoured thumb briefly swiping over Frost's fingers as he passed it along, though Danse himself didn't seem to notice. As they moved on to the next shell of the house, he caught Danse in his peripherals every so often, unconsciously standing much closer than he had before.

-

It had to be a gentle process, he thought. He kept up the _why don't you stand closer to me?_ Suggestions until Danse bumping into the back of him was a frequent occurrence. The man apologised, corrected his distance, but closed the gap again before long. In the thick of battle, where he might have given Frost silent hand gestures to _hold position, go, flank_ before, he instead reached out to touch Frost's arm, squeeze his shoulder. It was largely subconscious, but Danse's ears went pink every time he caught himself doing it. Sweet, really. 

The power armour though, that was getting in the way of things. They were progressing towards intimacy, but that wall of steel would always be a barrier, literal and metaphorical. 

After a day of running errands for the Brotherhood, they found a relatively safe place to rest for the night. Frost secured the perimeter with a few mines, singing an old song from the radio; after a time, he slipped the adjustment code into the lyrics. Heard the grinding of metal as Danse turned to look at him.

“Isn't it hot in that armour?” he called. “You must be boiling in there. Are you sure you don't want to take it off?”

There was some shuffling. “Protection is worth suffering discomfort over. We could be attacked.”

“Trust me, if these mines don't outright kill any intruders, they'll slow them down enough for you to get back into it.” He didn't add anything more. It was the first time his suggestion hadn't been immediately followed, but it was possible it just conflicted too much with Danse's personality, namely the bordering-on-codependence he had with his suit. But eventually he heard the hiss of the armour coming apart, and he turned just in time to see Danse stepping out of it and mopping his brow.

God, but he was lovely. He saw Danse out of the suit so rarely, he'd forgotten what a sublime figure the man had, his broad shoulders and thick thighs. The orange suit only accentuated his bulk, all the right dips and swells in all the right places.

Danse swallowed, padding closer to Frost without truly understanding why. “What's that look for?”

Frost beamed at him. “Sorry! I'm not used to seeing you in the flesh, so to speak. That suit must be hot too, right?”

Danse frowned and shook his head. “It's fine. They're designed to work with power armour, so they provide sufficient ventilation.” Ah fuck, he hadn't said the code. No matter.

“You're okay sleeping in that then?” He reached out, fingers brushing against the orange-coated arm. Conditioned to contact by now, Danse leaned into the touch. “We should get some sleep while everything's quiet. I'll take first watch.”

He sat on a chair and performed idle maintenance on his rifle as Danse settled down. It really was a hot night, Frost himself feeling sticky and bothered, plus a little petulant that he hadn't been able to get that jumpsuit off him. Still, he had others ideas in mind. He let a little time pass, enough for Danse to get comfortable in the sleeping bag and start drifting, when he recited the code. A rustle of fabric as Danse sat up halfway to look at him.

“You liked that touch on your arm, huh?” he began, hand caressing over his own thigh, knowing Danse was watching – already wanting. “Maybe you can't stop thinking about me touching you. Where else you'd like my fingers to go.” Then he looked over, questioning. “Everything alright, paladin?”

Danse blinked wide-eyed at him a few times, followed by a: “Y... yes. It's nothing.” He lay back down and immediately rolled onto his side, facing away.

Nothing happened for a while. He was actually a little worried he hadn't said the code correctly, that he'd just spoken his suggestion aloud and made things awkward. But if he strained his ears he could hear the slightest rustling of fabric, Danse making minute movements he desperately tried to keep hidden.

Like taking off power armour, doing anything intimate with another person in the room wrestled with Danse's natural instincts. He knew by now that the code would always win out eventually, but it could end up being a very, very long struggle. Not to mention he was having a hard time seeing what was actually going on; with Danse hyperaware of Frost's every movement, he froze any time a glance was sent his way. 

Eventually he reached into his pack and pulled out a hand mirror he'd looted earlier in the day, carefully slipping it under the rifle he was working so diligently on. With a bit of effort he angled it to see what Danse was up to, while keeping his head turned away. It wasn't the best view, but it'd have to do.

Dimly he could just make out Danse's hands moving, although admittedly not quite where he'd had in mind. Broad fingers slipped over his forehead, his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, fingernails rasping faintly against the stubble. The touch was... affectionate, rather than sexual. Imagining Frost touching him as though he were precious, rather than desirable.

Frost swallowed as silently as he could. His lips parted to speak the code again, suggest – or demand – that Danse start groping himself already, rather than... than whatever this was. But the words died in his throat, leaving him unable to do more than watch in silence.

He felt, quite abruptly, ashamed of himself, and then furious because he was the future Director of the Institute. Danse was his, had always been his even if he still didn't know it, and Frost could order him to do whatever he liked. He could tell Danse to come over here right now and start sucking his cock, and while such a direct order might first warrant shock and refusal, Danse would do it eventually. His programming wouldn't let him do otherwise.

Tempting. So very tempting. But he'd made such progress with Danse already; just because he wasn't doing exactly what Frost anticipated didn't mean he needed to be overwritten. Gentle, it needed to be gentle.

There was a certain sense of relief as Danse's hands finally snaked under the cover of the sleeping bag, fulfilling the predictable, primal urges Frost had wanted. Simplistic, safe territory that didn't have him questioning what Danse actually felt for him, how he viewed him other than as a comrade and unknown master. He could hear, just faintly, the rustle of Danse rubbing his bulky thighs together, desperate to find some stimulation that didn't involve him actually undressing. He still hadn't properly suggested that the jumpsuit was too warm but Frost was willing to bet it was now with him so worked up.

He hadn't specified that Danse _had_ to find release so chances were he would deny it to himself. Of course, he also hadn't specified that Danse should ever stop thinking about Frost touching him – like his order to stand too close for comfort, it was indefinite until he was told otherwise. Perhaps Danse would spend every moment hereafter like this, flushed pink and trying not to pant or move too obviously, confused and aroused and mortified.

They swapped watch duty halfway through the night, Danse moving awkwardly over to the chair while Frost took the sleeping bag. Sat not quite ruler straight (Frost's correction), staring straight ahead but compelled to avert his gaze every few seconds (Frost's correction). By the time he succumbed to sleep Danse was still unmoving, and when he woke up the next day Danse had retreated to the sanctuary of his power armour, helmet masking any flush to his face.

It was a milder day than yesterday, but the suggestion that power armour was uncomfortably warm still stood. He could hear Danse breathing just a little harder than normal, see him periodically adjusting the controls.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, Danse startling a little at being caught. He couldn't see his expression, but he was sure 'radstag caught in spotlight' would describe it.

“Nothing. Just. Ah,” his tone was unsure. “I think my armour is malfunctioning. I have air-con turned up to full, my fusion core is draining as though it is, but I can't feel any difference in temperature.”

“Are you sure it's the armour? Could just be you.” He closed the short distance between them until his chest almost bumped the T-60's bulky metal chest plate. “Take off your helmet for me?”

There was clear hesitation, but the helmet was lifted. Underneath Danse was pinker and damper than usual, strands of dark hair matted to his skin from the psychosomatic heat and unabating frustrations. Frost lifted a hand, pressed it against Danse's forehead, then his cheeks, then purposefully-accidentally slipping along his jaw. He didn't miss the shudder it elicited.

“You have a fever, I think. There's a hospital nearby-” he drew his hands away to check his pip-boy map, catching the little shuddered exhale from Danse as he did so but pretending he hadn't, of course. “Aha, east. Why don't we stop there and see if we can find some medicine?”

“I don't think I'm ill, it's just-” _you. It's just you. Go on, say it._ But Danse didn't say it, instead clearing his throat, averting his gaze. “A hot day,” he finished in a mumble.

“I still think we should try. Even if we can't find anything, more supplies are always good, right? Then we can clear it out and send some scribes in, see if there's any medical technology that may benefit the Brotherhood.” 

Patriotism usually perked Danse up, and sure enough: “That sounds like a good idea.”

-

There wasn't much medicine left, anything useful long since looted. He did find some mild painkillers, only 190 years past their expiry date, the semi-placebo sort a pharmacy might give to a patient just to shut them up. Still, it wasn't like Danse genuinely needed them.

“Here we go. Instructions say-” he read them out and slipped the code into there. Seeing Danse flustered was fun, but it couldn't go on indefinitely, he needed to provide some means of relief. “If you take two of these, the fever should abate within two hours.” he tossed the packet over to Danse who only just caught it, power armour not being suited to handling small objects. Including pill packets, so he heard the hiss as Danse departed his armour, freeing up his fingers to take the medicine. “Did it help?” he called out afterwards, turning back to the medicine stocks.

“The effects aren't instantaneous, though they should take hold within the next two hours,” Danse responded faithfully, and Frost smiled to himself. 

He needed something else to feign interest in. “Hey, what's this? Come over here a sec.”

The paladin did so, Frost's series of suggestions to stand ever closer kicking in as he took a few steps closer than he normally would. A small 'oof' as he bumped into the back of Frost, their bodies beautifully flush against each other for a split second. Danse immediately blurted out a “Sorry-” and moved, but Frost turned around and caught him by the arm. He couldn't have frozen him more effectively if he'd used the cryolator.

“Danse?” he murmured, voice low and soft. Now facing each other, the gap – or lack thereof – was readily apparent. He could rattle off the code, get Danse to close that last few inches and kiss him. But he didn't really need to, did he? Danse already wanted to kiss him, like he wanted to share sweet touches rather than outright sexual ones.

He leaned in and pressed their lips together.

Danse jerked back at first, a startled “Soldier-” but Frost closed the gap again, resealing their mouths and welding the rest of their bodies together. Danse was tension incarnate but his mouth tentatively kissed back, a hitch in his breath for every fractional pause Frost permitted. The Brotherhood orange jumpsuit had a crotch plate that did a marvellous job of hiding any bodily responses – so well that Frost had to wonder if it hadn't been deliberately designed just for that – but he could feel it protruding just a little more than it should. He pressed into it just enough that the motion could be taken as deliberate rather than accidental, but then Danse snapped back like he'd been burned.

“Frost?” it was as vulnerable as Frost had ever heard him.

Hmm. The downside of not using the code was that Frost then had to explain his actions. He decided to go the bashful route. “I'm sorry I – er – I'm not sure what – ah – heat of the moment? But you're – oh the fever, and – that was taking advantage, wasn't it? I'm so sorry.”

“No, it's-” noticing he still had Frost crowded up against a medicine cabinet, Danse took a hefty step back. “We will write this off as an accident. But this can't happen again. It isn't appropriate.”

“Yes sir, I understand.” He could get away with a smidge of insubordination, while Danse was still caught off guard. “You're a good kisser, for what it's worth.”

“Knight.”

“Sorry! Sorry. Let's just move on.”

-

Later, they settled in an old building. Danse took first watch, and spoke just as Frost was about the settle in for sleep. “Wait. What did you want to show me earlier?”

“Hmm?”

“You called me over to the medicine cabinet. Before – before. You had something to show me.”

“Oh, sorry. It was just some more medicine, a bit stronger than the stuff we usually find. I took it with us when we left, don't worry.” A pause. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, the fever seems to have disappeared.” Danse shifted a little in his chair. “Thank you for finding it. I would not have wanted my poor health to compromise any missions.”

He smiled up at the ceiling. “It was more about not seeing you in pain, really.”

Silence reigned for a good long while, but Danse spoke eventually, his voice unsure. “...Why did you kiss me?”

He thought it over. Sticking with the _heat of the moment_ story could lead Danse to believe Frost held no interest in him beyond the physical. On the other hand, casual sex was much easier to facilitate than the possibility of a relationship. Also he'd intended, originally, to condition Danse into using sex as a means of relieving tension – but he thought now that Danse maybe couldn't do sex without getting attached.

“I care about you,” he said carefully, still looking at the ceiling though he could tell Danse was staring at him. Even if his coding compelled him to keep glancing away, then back again. “And I felt I had to show it in some way, any way. I'd do it again.”

Danse hunched over a little bit. Ashamed. Probably hard too though. “We shouldn't.”

He shrugged. “We're both adults. I'd like to think we're capable of making our own decisions rather than be told what we can and can't do.”

He was silent and unmoving, so Frost sighed, wriggled back out of his sleeping bag and padded over. He reached out, hand placed on one of those impossibly broad, impossibly tense shoulders.

“I understand propriety if we're among your peers, but this isn't the Prydwen.” Rubbed along the shoulder, creeping up to the junction of his neck. The high-collared suit kept a barrier between them, but the gesture was unmistakeably intimate. Danse glanced up, wide-eyed. “You already act differently when we're on it, you don't stand nearly as close or touch me as much. Is this so different? What's one more small change?”

“I'm your sponsor...”

“You're my friend.” _You're mine._ “Can I kiss you again?”

Danse squeezed his eyes shut. “No.”

The pang of disappointment was much stronger than he'd anticipated. Still, he hadn't coded Danse to want to kiss him, only to want everything that would lead to kissing. It felt like a concentrated effort to take his hand away from Danse's shoulder, but he did, stepping back. “Alright.”

“I'm your sponsor,” was the best explanation Danse could give. He could hear the tremble in the man's voice, the desire to do the exact opposite, but his principles wouldn't let him.

Frost had the means to overwrite those principles. When he silently returned to his sleeping bag and lay near-unblinking in the dark, he considered it. Formulated every possible option and outcome to make Danse just that little bit more willing to bend his own rules, to submit. But the words never came.

-

With the police station in sight, Frost decided to stop there before they drifted into overhearing range. “Alright, I'm going to head over to Sanctuary. I'll see you in a few days.”

“You're not taking me with you?” Danse asked.

“I have some non-Brotherhood tasks to run. Mostly Minutemen stuff, not really of interest to you. You have to catch up on reports, don't you?” he added before Danse could argue that first point.

“And this has nothing to do with...” a furtive look around. Subtlety had never been Danse's strong point, though Frost found it somewhat endearing, “What happened?”

“No. Well, yes.” At the frown he received, he added: “I'm not abandoning you for the likes of MacCready or anything, I promise. It's just a few days apart to think it over. I hope you'll consider it at least, but if it's still a no... we'll still be friends.”

“Will we?” Danse asked, simply.

Frost swallowed, and spoke the code.

“You should be able to concentrate on other tasks while I'm away,” he started, since he needed to provide some relief before Danse decided he had a genuine medical condition. “But you'll think of me a lot, won't you? The idea of devoting yourself to something other than the Brotherhood isn't so bad.”

Just a little push in the right direction, nothing more. Danse blinked a few times, conversation already wiped from memory, the hard set of his mouth softening somewhat.

“We'll always be friends,” Frost said. “I just... think you should do what makes you happy, whatever that turns out to be. I want what's best for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in one sitting and may write more - seeing as we haven't even had any real sex yet - but no promises. I hope you liked it!


End file.
